


Can't Hide When Haunted

by Fictionfuelled



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: (Past) Unrequited love, (mostly), Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Gaston's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 22:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11450289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionfuelled/pseuds/Fictionfuelled
Summary: Gaston was dead.He couldn't believe it.He couldn't understand it.After Gaston's death, LeFou finds it difficult to adjust and to accept himself. Luckily he has some incredible new friends.And Stanley.He's always had Stanley, it seems.





	Can't Hide When Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This story is set directly after Gaston's death, and I know that kind of fic has been done quite a lot (and there are some really great ones!), but once I had the idea it wouldn't leave me alone, so this happened :)  
> I'm quite happy with how it turned out, and I hope you enjoy it!

Gaston was dead.

 

Belle had told him. In a barely contained whisper, a sort of pity twisted into her voice. She was still talking, most likely words of comfort spilling from her mouth. LeFou could hear her voice but he couldn't really make out the words, they just fizzled into background noise. He felt weak, his knees almost buckling under the weight of the news. Gaston would've mocked him, used him as fodder to make himself seem more impressive. LeFou let out a bitter laugh at the idea that Gaston would never mock him again.

 

He couldn't believe it.

He couldn't understand it.

He felt detached, like he wasn't really in his body, like it was all a dream. But he knew it wasn't; dimly aware of the commotion around him, voices rising and falling, some touches, people brushing past. He couldn't concentrate on it though, couldn't even concentrate enough to understand what Belle was saying, his thoughts so loud and so overwhelming they cut her off.

 

Gaston was dead. Dead. _Gone_. Never coming back. Ever. LeFou could barely comprehend it; Gaston had always been there, for as far as he could remember. Of course, people died, LeFou knew that, had gone through that- but Gaston had always seemed so _invincible_. Always able to sweet-talk his way around everything, and everyone (apart from Belle, but she was the only exception really). LeFou had never even considered the possibility of him not being able to sweet-talk or push his way past death. It felt impossible. Even in war he had seemed invulnerable, a formidable force, tearing apart anything on his way.

 

LeFou should've seen it coming, should've known it was around the corner. Especially with Gaston having become more and more unstable, selfishly sacrificing others in his insane hunt for Belle. He had become obsessed, had gone too far, LeFou had noticed it. It was only natural that there would be consequences, but he hadn't thought that death could be one such consequence. It had never occurred to him.

 

Nothing ever did.

 

Gaston was right. The townspeople were right. The thoughts came to him in flashes, as a revelation: he truly was a fool. A fool and a coward, always hiding between Gaston's shadow.

 

But Gaston was gone and he no longer had any support, no-one to give him orders, no purpose. And he didn't know what to do, what to think. There was so much; so many thoughts, so many emotions trembling and twisting inside of him, he couldn't even understand what they were. Was he scared, of a life without his hero, his leader? Was he relieved, having lost his tormentor? Gaston may have been the one person who had always been at LeFou's side, who had trusted him, but he had also- hurt him, abandoned him. He didn't know how to react, he was a mess. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was shaking.

 

And then he was moving, walking. Swaying slightly, almost as though he were drunk. His eyes seemed unable to focus properly, going blurry and then clear and then blurry again. He didn't care. It didn't matter. He just-

He needed to know it was real, he realised. He needed to know that he wasn't being lied to, because he had been lied to so much, his entire life. The West Wing. He was _sure_ Belle had said something about the West Wing. Gaston would be there. He had to see him, dead or alive. He simply had to see him, then he could try to make sense of things.

 

LeFou forced one shaking leg in front of another, quite sure that he was going the right way. He thought he could hear voices getting loud again, coming together in shouts of his name, but he wasn't sure.

It didn't matter anyway.

He was Gaston's right hand man. Gaston had said so himself, several times. It was his job to find Gaston, no matter what. And then he did.

 

He froze, his vision and hearing suddenly sharp again. He could see an arm, flung out amidst rubble and dirt. He could see blood, staining the rocks even darker. He could hear footsteps and voices. He could hear one louder than any other, broken into a hoarse whimper, and shock lit up his eyes as he recognised the noise as coming from himself.

 

Then hands were reaching him, grabbing him, tugging him; pulling him back, the voices at a crescendo. He let himself be led, still staring at the crushed body. He hadn't seen much, but he had seen enough to know that it would haunt his nightmares. He didn't know who was dragging him away, couldn't really bring himself to care. His eyelids suddenly felt really heavy and his vision was blurring again. He closed his eyes. He was so tired, so very tired. He let himself melt into the touches, the pushing and pulling and guiding. For a frenzied minute, for the minute before he lost consciousness altogether, LeFou wished they would grip harder, pull more insistently, punish him properly. After all, Gaston had been punished for his wrongs. And where Gaston went, LeFou followed. That was how it had always been. That was how it was supposed to be.

 

Wasn't it?

 

*

 

Gaston may have been dead but he was constantly around LeFou. In his dreams. In his nightmares. In the whispers that seemed to build whenever LeFou went back to the village (he stopped going back to the village, couldn't bear it anymore). In his head.

 

Sometimes he heard his voice. Reminding him of how pathetic he was. Reminding him of how he was nothing without Gaston.

 

Even when he didn't hear him, his thoughts always went back to him.

 

It was to be expected, he guessed. Gaston had been such a large part of his life after all. LeFou didn't even want to think about what exactly the other man had been to him. Didn't want to think of what he had hoped for in their relationship. Things which, with hindsight, he knew would never have happened. In fact, he didn't want to think of Gaston at all. It was like Gaston was plaguing him. Never leaving him alone, never allowing him any time to relax or be happy. Some days; the bad days, he felt like he couldn't be happy. Like he had lost the capability for happiness. It was horrible, his thoughts relentless. He was having difficulty sleeping. Sometimes he was even having difficulty breathing.

 

LeFou spent most of his time in his room, the one he had been given at the castle.

 

He had tried going back to his real room, his old room, the one in Gaston's house, but it had too many memories.

 

Belle checked in on him regularly, bringing him books. They didn't speak about what had happened, even though she always suggested that he could. Instead they would sit at the edge of his bed and she would guide him through the pages, teaching him to read. It was a slow process but it was a nice one. A distraction from everything else. And Belle was lovely.

 

He started to become familiar with the people who worked at the castle as well. Especially Mrs. Potts. She visited him rather often. Perhaps because he had saved her life. Perhaps because she liked him. Perhaps only because she was the type of person to visit and speak to everyone.

 

Normally he would be wary, but she was so friendly and honest and _caring,_ that he opened up to her very quickly. Already in her first visit he told her everything on his mind, needing to let it out, tell someone. And she had listened. No-one had listened to him for a long time. Not properly. And certainly not when he was talking about himself. It was comforting.

 

In turn, she would tell him about the ball that Belle and Adam were planning, her excited chatter soothing and warming.

 

*

 

He'd never actually thought he would go to the ball.

 

Sure, it sounded fun. Music, dancing and all. He would've jumped at the chance before. But that was before. As much as he liked all of those things, they had lost most of their appeal. He didn't really feel up to it, especially if Mrs Potts was right about how many people had been invited. He wasn't exactly comfortable with the idea of it.

 

But Mrs. Potts could be very persuasive and before he knew it he had finally caved to her persistent invitations.

 

Well, at least he would finally find out who the mysterious person who wanted to see him was.

 

*

 

A couple of days after the decisive battle, he had been asked if he was taking any visitors. Surprised, he had told Adam that he would rather not. He hadn't thought that anyone would be interested in visiting him. Not long after that, Mrs Potts kept implying that there was someone who had been asking after him, who had been trying to speak to him.

 

At first he had thought it was one of the other castle-hands. However, after a lot of wheedling, Mrs Potts finally admitted that it was actually one of the villagers. She refused to tell him anymore though, just smiling mischievously at him whenever he asked. He pushed it out of his mind, but sometimes the thought would come back to him, late at night when he stared at the ceiling, wishing for a peaceful sleep. He didn't know who it was, but he would sometimes mentally sort through the villagers, wondering who would possibly ask after him.

 

There was one person who his mind kept returning to.

(The only person who he had spoken to often in the village, who wasn't Gaston)

But it couldn't be.

(The only person he had actually liked, who wasn't Gaston)

There was no way.

(The only person who would've been kind enough to want to visit, to want to make sure he was okay)

 

He tried to suffocate the thought. He didn't want to raise his own hopes. But the ball brought back the questions: Mrs. Potts told him that the person who kept trying to see him was hoping he would be there.

 

That wasn't why he had decided to go, though.

 

It wasn't that he was hoping that maybe the person he had been thinking about - the one who wasn't dead, who wasn't gone - would maybe think about him too.

 

Finding out would just be a benefit of going. At least that was what he told himself.

 

*

 

LeFou had to admit, the room was dressed up beautifully, carefully adorned with flowers. And he even fit in, wearing clothes that were finer than anything he had ever worn before, an outfit which Mrs Potts had passed onto him from Madame de Garderobe. The music was incredible as well, Madame de Garderobe's voice ringing out clearly, accompanied perfectly by the harpsicord.

 

Yet however much he appreciated its beauty it felt off.

Unreal, like a dream.

 

Perhaps it was all too beautiful. Perhaps even though LeFou had seemed to be getting better he still wasn't right. He was still a mess.

 

He knew he should be better, should have moved on. But he just hadn't been able to. And it filled him with despair, that he hadn't. Everyone else had, everyone else was dancing, singing and smiling, Gaston forgotten. But LeFou couldn't forget and he hated himself for it.

 

It was just one more thing that made him different.

 

Why couldn't he be normal? Why couldn't he just be happy, cheerful, butt-of-the-joke, fool LeFou again? But that seemed impossible. So he stood at the edge of the festivities, looking at nothing in particular, hoping that it would make him think of nothing in particular too.

 

That was until Mrs Potts spotted him from the middle of the ballroom floor, and urged him forwards. She looked so concerned, creases at her eyes. He was worried she might leave her dance to speak to him and he didn't want to burden anyone anymore, especially not kind, motherly Mrs. Potts. That was why, when there was another change in partners, he joined in, taking the first extended hand that he saw.

 

Looking up he realised that he was dancing with a girl he didn't recognise. Probably someone from the castle, then. She seemed nice, smiling at him easily, so he tried to put his heart into it, smiling back. He slipped into the simple rhythm of the dance, and found that it was alright. Do-able.

 

He could just focus on his steps, on the soft swaying.

 

He could even escape his constant, hounding thoughts. As that dance started to near its end his smile was a bit more genuine, and he was even looking forward to the next dance as well.

 

There was a flurry of movement as everyone shifted and he spun to meet his next partner.

 

And his breath seemed to leave his body.

 

In front of him, in similar neat attire, stood Stanley. _Stanley_ with a wide, if nervous smile, and open, welcoming arms. And when LeFou smiled back it felt so real it sent warmth running through his spine. They fell into the dance fluidly. Stanley moved elegantly and LeFou didnâ€™t remember ever having danced so well. With anybody.

 

It was the safest he'd felt for what seemed a very long time. And the happiest, too.

 

And it was over far too quick, Stanley giving him a nod before he turned to dance again with another girl. LeFou shook his head at his supposed next partner and carefully avoided bumping into anyone as he left the ballroom floor.

 

He squatted for a while, beside it. But this time he was observing the dancers. And if he smiled whenever he saw one person in particular, well that was for him to know.

 

*

 

It was only later that he realised that he was the only man who had danced with another man. And that Stanley had purposefully chosen to dance with him.

 

He pretended that it wasn't important but couldn't help wondering about it.

 

*

 

Sometimes he wondered why nobody brought it up. They had stuck out like sore thumbs, but it was never mentioned. Some nights, when LeFou thought about himself, about how he was, he wondered why no-one had commented.

 

Why no-one had pointed out how _wrong_ it was.

 

Sometimes the thought was his only hope. Maybe he really could fit in again, find another purpose.

 

*

 

As the days passed, turning into weeks with him barely noticing, he began to speak to more people. Mostly people who lived in or worked in the castle. But it was a start.

 

He became quite good friends with Lumiere, who was friendly and very attentive. And sometimes he engaged in conversation with Cogsworth, who was slightly skittish but quite kindly, and always checking that LeFou was happy with his room. He even spoke more with Adam, who had only spoken to him once before the ball. He seemed intimidating but had turned out to be rather caring, in his own way.

 

That in itself had brought difficulties though.

 

That night, LeFou heard Gaston's voice, yelling at him, again and again. _How dare you consort with the enemy. Don't you remember? He's a beast! A beast! He stole Belle from me! He killed me! Why have you not avenged my death yet? I thought you were **faithful**. I thought you were **mine**. I thought you **loved me**. _

_Traitor._

_Turncoat._

_Coward._

_You were always a coward. Always, always, always._

The words kept running through his head, repeating, no matter how much he twisted and turned in an effort to get away. His sleep was restless and he woke up sobbing.

 

*

 

No matter how much his days appeared to be improving, his nights were only worsening. Sleep was difficult, and when he did sleep it was riddled with nightmares. Some mornings he woke up crying. Some he woke up screaming. Some nights it got so bad that he would be woken by other people. Usually Cogsworth who liked to be thorough in his rounds, or Mrs Potts who was always up early. He saw the concern and pity in their eyes. He saw the fear.

 

And he loathed it.

 

Thankfully they never mentioned it, only stayed with him until his breathing was regular and never bringing it up again at any other times.

 

*

 

One thing which Mrs Potts _did_ start to bring up, however, was Stanley. He had supposedly become firm friends with Madame de Garderobe and after the ball she had promised to teach him all she knew about dressmaking.

 

It was perhaps more surprising news than it should have been.

 

LeFou remembered Stanley commenting on his clothes in some of their tavern chats. Remembered him having remarked on textures and colour-matching and things which hadn't ever really been noticed by LeFou himself.

 

Mrs Potts had taken quite a shine to Stanley, commenting more and more on how _nice_ and _friendly_ and _handsome_ he was. As if LeFou didn't know. But the more she mentioned him, the more LeFou found himself remembering it. Remembering all the little things he had picked up about Stanley from all their talks at the back of the tavern.

 

And he didn't want to.

He didn't want to remember those talks, because they reminded him too much of-

Gaston.

 

And he was moving on from Gaston. Or he was supposed to be. He knew he was supposed to be.

 

*

 

Gaston still kept popping up in his thoughts. Maybe not so much as when he was alive. And not so much as when his death had been recent. But he was still there. Around every corner. Persistent even in death. It would have been funny if it didnâ€™t hurt so much.

 

In the dark, lying on that too large, too comfortable bed, thoughts of Gaston would consume him and conflict him.

 

Because if he thought about it - if he let himself think about it, properly, he would get trapped in thoughts of their relationship. Because LeFou had been-

Infatuated with him? Obsessed with him?

In _love_ with him?

And he and been for a long time.

 

And death didn't really remove that. Neither did the knowledge of Gaston's true nature. It changed the way he thought of him. It changed how he appeared in LeFou's dreams, in his memories. But it didn't change the fact that LeFou had stuck by him for so long because he had been so drawn to him. Because he had wanted to take care of him. Because he had hoped-

Hoped for the impossible.

For Gaston to care for him in the same way.

 

It scared him to think about it. It scared him to realise that he had made such a bad judgement of character, that he had been so wrong, and that he had inadvertently hurt so many people as a result.

 

*

 

Gaston loved drinking at the tavern almost as much as he loved hunting, which meant he spent a lot of time in the tavern. And that meant that LeFou's also spent a lot of time in the tavern. Because he went where Gaston went. Although LeFou often wanted to drown himself in drink, lose all of his despairing thoughts of Gaston, it was more important for him to take care of his friend. He took his duties as main carer of Gaston extremely seriously, which meant that he usually took care not to get too drunk. Gaston, however, knew he had LeFou to take care of him and so often drank as much as he could. A drunk Gaston was also a flirty Gaston, however, which meant that many times LeFou was just left to watch as Gaston fooled around with whichever woman took his fancy that night.

 

And that hurt.

 

Hurt too much for LeFou to ever actually watch. And so, after the first few times he began to would draw his attention to other things, or rather, people.

 

Stanley was also careful with his drink, as he adopted a similar role of carer in regards to Dick and Tom, his closest friends. One night he approached LeFou, remarking on both of their sobriety and before LeFou knew it, they ended up having regular talks. Stanley was pleasant company, witty, open, honest and relatable.

 

When LeFou looked back on their chats, when he became brave enough to think past their cause, he noticed things he hadn't before. He noticed how he had told Stanley more even than he had told Gaston. He noticed his own fondness for Stanley. How over time he had stopped thinking so much about the dread of Gaston being with someone he could never be, and had instead looked forward to all opportunities to just talk to Stanley.

 

He noticed that when he thought of those chats without his old, intense focus on Gaston, he had actually really liked Stanley.

 

But LeFou tried not to notice those things.

 

Because it wasn't right.

 

Because he had already hurt himself so much with his thoughts of Gaston. And he was scared of it happening all over again. He had always been quite helpless.

 

*

 

Despite Mrs Potts dropping Stanley into a third of all of their conversations, LeFou didn't actually see him again until a few weeks after the ball.

 

LeFou had just finished one of his reading lessons with Belle, which had moved to the library not long after the ball, and had been returning to his room when he had bumped into Stanley. Literally. He had stepped back, apologies automatic, hands waving franticly until he registered who it was in front of him. Then he had frozen and promptly forgotten how to breathe.

 

Stanley had looked up at him with startled eyes and then given him a wide smile and beckoned for the other to follow him.

 

How could LeFou not?

 

*

 

LeFou didn't know how long they had spent together, but they had both missed the regular dinner-time and had to heat up their meals later, in a mostly empty kitchen. By the time LeFou had gone back to his room it was pitch black outside.

 

And for once, the thoughts which infested his mind as he tried to sleep were not guilty or scared or hurt. They were happy and comfortable and he had the best sleep since moving into the castle.

 

*

 

Mrs Potts joyful smile the next day was warning enough, as she launched into a talk about how _glad_ she was that LeFou and Stanley were _getting along_. She made him recount the whole day, including their stroll through the gardens, their small, relaxed dinner and their last conversation as they had sat at the balcony, looking at the stars.

 

It was him telling her that let him notice how happy he had been. How he hadn't stopped smiling. How he had started to find his thoughts wondering over to what Stanley might be up to.

 

*

 

In the weeks that followed LeFou was getting more sleep. He was also no longer as trapped in thoughts of Gaston but thought a little more of Stanley.

 

They spoke more and more, until it seemed like every single time LeFou left his room he would find Stanley at some point. And he really didn't mind. Instead he looked forward to it. They never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Even when they didn't talk, when they just sat by each other, LeFou felt relaxed. He felt safe.

 

It was when LeFou realised that seeing Stanley had become the main highlight of his living at the castle that he realised it was happening again.

 

He had fallen for another man.

 

*

 

It scared him. It scared him a lot. Stanley was so much kinder to him, so much more caring to him than Gaston had been. But Gaston had faked caring, had faked kindness. And so it scared him that Stanley may be the same.

 

He didn't think so. He felt terrible just thinking it, just supposing that Stanley might be at all dishonest. But he had once trusted Gaston in the same way in which he trusted Stanley.

 

*

 

It also comforted him. He had felt so lost after Gaston's death, so confused. Stanley had made him feel better again, feel human again and alive again. Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted that. And Stanley let him, spending as much time with him as possible.

 

Perhaps he was reading too much into it, but Stanley listened to all of his thoughts, no matter how rambling they were, and gave good advice. He also was very good at cheering LeFou up, sometimes with especially funny anecdotes involving his antics with Tom and Dick. Sometimes, on particularly good days, LeFou thought that he could see his feelings reflected in Stanley's smile, or his laugh, or in the way he moved around LeFou like he was valuable.

 

Other days, he convinced himself it was just Stanley being Stanley. Because that was how Stanley was: open and affectionate and funny. To everyone.

 

*

 

It was a chilly day, the day he found out the truth. Summer had passed and it had become a quite cold Autumn faster than LeFou had really expected. That day Stanley had actually knocked on his door and asked if LeFou would be up for a walk. LeFou had immediately said yes and they walked through the very impressive gardens. They walked farther across the grounds than LeFou had gone before, and he was just about to suggest they turn back when they spotted a maze. It was large, bigger than any LeFou had seen before and he grinned. He had always loved mazes as a child. At the sight of LeFou's expression, Stanley suggested they go in.

 

As if of the same mind, they both ran into it at the same time, racing eachother through the passages. LeFou was quite fast (used to having to run after Gaston on various hunts) and was ahead at first, but Stanley caught up quickly, nudging into him and grabbing his hand with a loud laugh.

 

Stanley's hand was a bit sweaty but it was rough and warm and the contact sent a thrill through LeFou. As he looked over, Stanley seemed to flinch in anticipation, but LeFou rubbed his thumb against the back of his hand and grinned at him. It got the message across and Stanley visibly relaxed. Eventually they collapsed somewhere in the middle of the maze and slumped against eachother breathing loudly.

 

LeFou leant against Stanley, his eyes closed, just feeling the other man's warmth, the safety of it. He could hear their breathing gradually regulate and fall into the same rhythm and it was strangely comforting. Stanley began to shift beside him, nervously and LeFou opened his eyes to peer at him curiously.

 

Stanley's face was red and his free hand twitched where it clutched at the grass next to them, but his voice was quite even. "LeFou, I want you to know that I think you are," Stanley scrunched up his face, clearly searching for the right words. LeFou smiled at him patiently, trying to help him calm down, but his own heart was beating quickly in anticipation. "I think you are an incredible man," Stanley finished. LeFou's face flushed, and he looked away. Stanley's hand gripped his tighter, for a second, then released it. LeFou let out a shaky breath, scared, not sure of what was coming. "And I admire you." He could hear a rustling of clothing and he looked up quickly. His eyes locked with Stanley's. _They really are a beautiful shade of brown_ , he thought. They were close, so close he could feel Stanley's breath, warm against his face, and all he could think was how happy he felt. How he didn't want to lose that feeling.

 

But Stanley hadn't finished speaking. He let out a long loud breath and then smiled and said: "And I love you".

 

LeFou sucked in a breath. Stanley looked so earnest, so confident, it was in a way terrifying. And then Stanley was speaking again, and LeFou's heart started to sink, afraid it was all a lie or a joke. But it was no such thing. "I love you not as a friend. But- but like Belle loves Adam. Or Adam loves Belle. You choose. Or like Lumiere loves Plumette, or li-"

 

Stanley was rambling then, and LeFou couldn't help but start laughing.

 

It reminded him of himself, and it made him realise with clarity just how similar they were. As well as just how much he liked that, how much he liked Stanley. He felt like his whole body was tingling and he smiled at Stanley and reach out for his hand again. Stanley looked at him a moment and then started laughing as well, taking his hand and slumping back against the other one arm flung over LeFou.

 

 

And LeFou felt safe. Everything seemed, _right_ in Stanley's eyes. And then his eyes widened and he started to shake because it all felt _too_ right. He had fallen into this, whatever it was, with Stanley so quickly, and it scared him. It terrified him.

 

He liked Stanley, he liked him so much but-

 

But he was still so uncertain, because it hadn't been very long since Gaston. What if he was just using Stanley? What if it was all a result of the hurt and shock of losing Gaston that he had only latched onto Stanley because he was there, and he was nice? He didn't want it to be like that, but he didn't know if it was. If he was just taking advantage Stanley, and his love.

Because- Stanley had said he _loved him_ , and did LeFou really love him back?

Or was he just using him?

Using him like he had been used by Gaston?

And then he was crying, soundless sobs racking his body, tears running down his face.

 

Stanley started, looking at him with shock and fear but LeFou shook his head and managed to say, "it's not you."  Stanley pulled him closer and rubbed at his shoulder comfortingly.

 

Finally, LeFou stopped crying and they stayed a while watching the stars.

 

Then he looked at Stanley, who was looking at him, possibly had been the entire time, and whispered: "It's late." His voice was hoarse and his eyes hurt from crying too much, but he smiled. The smile was a nervous one, but it was still a smile.

 

"I don't-" _I don't know if I'm ready for this._

"I'm not-" _I'm not sure if I feel about you the way you feel about me, I don't know if I can._

"I still-" _I still cant forget Gaston. I don't think I ever will._

LeFou wanted to express all his fears, his inadequacies and his uncertainties, but he didn't know how to put it in words. "But- but I do _care for you_. Please understand that. I think I want this. I just don't want to promise anything..."

 

"That's okay," Stanley whispered back, smiling. "That's okay. This is just a start. A new start, for both of us." And LeFou had to smile back.

 


End file.
